Hello, Limerence

I reluctantly pay the high fee for my heavy luggage, pondering the limit of how much weight a single plane can handle. I wonder if airlines factor this into their pricing or if they've studied the data, finding that around 63% of passengers with extra luggage would rather unpack in front of others, thus keeping the total weight under the maximum.

I suspect they don't care, and will happily take my extra money without any bounds. A plane ride filled with too much luggage could crash, and we would all plummet to our doom. I soothe myself with an Asahi beer and sour gummy worms to avoid thinking about this grim possibility for too long. It's a 6,700-mile journey to New York in about 13 hours.

My nonstop flight is soon to land. I'm experiencing the excitement of a first solo trip to New York, marking my first time traveling alone. I scroll through our recent texts, filled with flirtatious banter and barely contained desire. I've tried various ways of initiating contact, but ultimately opted for a casual, all-lowercase message sent at 11:02 the next morning.

My phone suddenly buzzes with a new message, and my heart skips a beat, as if a lime had fallen into a cold bottle of beer. I reread our texts every night, trying to understand the pattern and keep our conversations alive. I enjoy manipulating our interactions, giving him just enough to keep him wanting more. As I sit on the shuttle bus to the Hilton, I'm filled with a bright, cold terror.

I'm alone in this big city, with a few thousand dollars in my pocket, having spent the last few years working a soul-sucking job.